скачать книгу бесплатно
Jenna couldn’t do anything more than nod. There, set into the wall of the decaying old chapel, was a stained-glass depiction of what could only be the Garden of Eden. Some of the lead dividers holding the glass shards in place were cracked or missing, leaving gaps in the colorful design that managed to shine through decades of grime. Going closer, she gently brushed away some of the dirt, admiring the depth of the greens and blues. It was humbling to consider the tremendous patience it must have taken some long-ago craftsman to fit together the tiny pieces that made up the birds and flowers.
“Who did this?” she asked in a reverent whisper.
“I dunno. Gram might, though, or know how we can find out. We should ask her.”
“I can’t believe it’s mostly intact, after all this time.” Glancing around the abandoned church, she added, “It’s like getting a gift from God, isn’t it?”
Scott didn’t respond to that, and out of the corner of her eye she caught his grimace. Turning to face him, she asked, “Did I say something wrong?”
“I’m just thinking we should figure out how to get this thing outta here before the roof caves in on it.”
“Good point.” Instinct told her there was more to his reaction than he was letting on, but it wasn’t her place to force him into discussing something he was clearly intent on keeping to himself. In the past year, she’d learned the Barrett men were stubborn to the core. They didn’t do anything against their considerable will, and she doubted that anything she might say would change this one.
Outside, they pulled a few of the old clapboards from the structure and discovered that whoever had covered the window had nailed up a piece of wood to protect it. So with Jenna inside steadying the fragile piece, Scott used a circular saw to cut out a square slightly bigger than the glass. Then she ran out to hold the frame while he made the last cuts, and together they lowered it to the ground.
Tufts of grass stuck through the open spots, completely ruining any aesthetic effect it once had. Jenna plunked her hands on her hips in disgust. “Well, that’s heartbreaking. I’ve never done stained glass like this, so I have no idea how to go about matching those colors.”
“Whattya mean?” Scott asked, clearly confused.
“We need to restore this and hang it back where it belongs,” she explained patiently.
“Why?”
“Because that’s how it was meant to be.” His baffled expression made it plain he still wasn’t following her line of reasoning. Reaching for an explanation he might understand, she said, “It’s like you making bead board for the kitchen. They have this really cool invention now, y’know. It’s called Sheetrock, and it works great for building interior walls. You can paint it and everything.”
“All right, you got me,” he relented with a chuckle. After a moment, he sobered, and that lingering sorrow clouded his face. “I’m sure Granddad would want the chapel the way it used to be. The problem is it’s gonna take most of my budget to fix the structural stuff, and I don’t have a lot of cash to throw around for doodads. How much do you think it’d cost to restore this thing?”
“If you help me get it to and from my studio, I’ll do it for free,” she blurted impulsively. Busy as she already was, taking on another project—a free one at that—made no sense at all. But in her heart she knew it was the right thing to do. When he gave her a dubious look, she added, “For Will.”
While he considered that, some of the darkness lifted from his features, and he offered his hand to seal the deal. “For Will.”
They stood that way for a few seconds, hands joined as they stared at each other. She noticed a hint of warmth in the depths of his eyes, and Jenna felt herself inexplicably drawn to this broken man who was trying to rebuild his life much like the property he’d inherited. She couldn’t help wondering if Will had intended just that, giving his wayward grandson another path to follow than the errant one he’d chosen.
Thinking about the generous man still made her teary, so she pulled her hand back and tried to focus her wandering mind on what needed to be done. While she was mulling, she spotted an ancient Ford delivery truck parked under a nearby tree. Decades of use had left the burgundy paint dull and faded, and she could barely read the Barrett’s Sawmill logo on the door. “Don’t tell me you ended up with the old mill truck.”
“Yeah, it’s my turn. Paul used it when he first came back, then Jason. It’s not fancy, but it runs. Most of the time,” he added with a wry grin.
“My van’s over at the cemetery. If you can give me a lift, I’ll drive it back here so we can put the window in back.”
“Actually, the other day I found some old quilts in the attic of the house. We can wrap the window in those and lay it flat in the bed of the truck. It should travel well enough that way, then I’ll drive you back to get your van.”
His suggestion made the task easier for her but required more effort from him, she realized. She approved his gesture with a smile. “Works for me.”
He retrieved the blankets, and they worked together to cushion the priceless artwork for its short trip across the valley.
Once it was secured in the back of his truck, she strolled over to eye the area beneath the hole they’d just made. “I’m guessing there are pieces of glass in the cavity between the interior and exterior walls.”
Scott groaned. “Sure, tiny ones that broke when they fell outta the frame. You won’t be able to repair them.”
“But I can get the original colors from them,” she argued, refusing to let his pessimistic assessment drown her enthusiasm for this project. “If you want this place to look the way it’s supposed to, having an accurate history of the decor will be important.”
“Decor. You sound like my new sisters-in-law.”
Biting back a sharp comment, she deflected his criticism with her sweetest smile. “What a nice thing to say. Chelsea and Amy are two of my favorite people.”
After a moment, his bravado faded a bit. “Yeah, I can see why. I didn’t mean to insult your friends.”
He clearly meant it as an apology, and she decided to take it that way. “They’re both great people, and if you take the time to get to know them, you won’t be sorry. After all, they’re part of your family now.”
Her gentle suggestion seemed to curdle the air between them, and the wariness he’d shown earlier returned with a cool vengeance. “Thanks for the tip,” he replied in a tone edged with sarcasm.
“Oh, don’t even bother with that,” she scolded, glaring up at him. “Growl and sulk all you want, but I’ve dealt with way tougher customers than you. You don’t scare me for a minute.”
As he studied her intently, his expression shifted from detached to fascinated in a heartbeat. “Tougher than me? When?”
“That’s absolutely none of your business,” she informed him, pivoting on her heel to grab another crowbar from his immaculate toolbox. “Now, do you want to help me or am I taking this wall apart by myself?”
He didn’t reply, and it took all her willpower not to look over her shoulder to gauge his reaction. Doing her best to forget he was even there, she inserted the bar into the rough-cut opening and started prying the dry, cracked boards away from the studs. Before long, Scott appeared beside her, and she braced herself for an arrogant masculine lecture on what she was doing wrong.
Instead, he silently took a position on the other side and began dismantling that section. She’d never have pegged him as the kind of guy who’d let a woman take the lead in anything, and she was more than a little impressed by his accepting attitude.
Of course, he also had a peculiar knack for aggravating her, she reminded herself immediately. Since he was a Barrett, she felt safe assuming his mulish disposition was equal parts inherited and acquired from his punishing recent history. She’d always had a weakness for bad boys, searching for the good in them and more often than not ending up disappointed when she found there wasn’t enough to work with.
It was just as well, she knew. Once she finished her current backlog of projects, she’d be pulling up stakes and joining the circuit of art fairs that made their way through the region every summer. Her allotted year in Barrett’s Mill was almost over, and it was time to move on. Usually, she looked forward to packing up and heading someplace else filled with new people and experiences.
Unfortunately, this time she wasn’t as enthusiastic about her upcoming adventure as she’d been in the past. Sometimes being a gypsy was a lot harder than it looked.
* * *
When they pulled in at Jenna’s studio, there was a familiar beat-up SUV already in the gravel parking lot.
“Were you expecting my mom this morning?” Scott asked as they got out of her van.
“No, but I’m always happy to see her,” Jenna replied with a quick laugh. “When she drops by, she either has something yummy and homemade or a new customer for me.”
“Now I remember where I saw your name,” he said as he waited to open the car door for his mother. She was talking animatedly on her cell phone, so he went on. “Mom and Dad have a painting of yours in their living room.”
“I did the original for Will last fall,” Jenna explained with a melancholy smile. “His cancer got so bad, he really couldn’t move around on his own anymore. He missed going for his walks, so I went out to one of his routes and took some photos, then did up a landscape of the area for him. Your parents liked it so much I painted another one for them. Your dad told me whenever he looks at it, he feels like his father’s still here.”
Only he wasn’t, and Scott swallowed hard around the lump that suddenly clogged his throat. It frequently returned when someone mentioned Granddad, and Scott had no idea how to make it stop. Maybe it never would. Pushing aside the depressing thought, he said, “It was nice of you to do that for them. I know it’s a little late, but thank you.”
“For what?”
“Being so good to my family. Most people I know couldn’t care less about anyone they’re not related to.”
That earned him a long, assessing look. “I think you’ve been hanging out with the wrong kind of people.”
He gave a short laugh, then realized she wasn’t trying to be humorous. Seeking to cover his harsh reaction, he dredged up a crooked smile. “That’s pretty obvious, wouldn’t you say?”
“What’s obvious?” his mother asked through the window she’d lowered when he wasn’t paying attention.
“That it’s good to be home,” he answered smoothly, opening the door for her. Since her hands were empty, he assumed that meant she was bringing Jenna more work. Which was interesting if the lady was intent on leaving soon. Maybe there was more going on than he understood. It certainly wouldn’t be the first time. Kissing Mom’s cheek, he asked, “What’re you up to today?”
“Nothing much. Running around mostly.”
Dressed in her usual jeans and a simple blouse, she didn’t look like someone who ran herd over a large family and teen centers in both Barrett’s Mill and nearby Cambridge. Her dark eyes snapped with intelligence and the irrepressible humor that charmed everyone she met within ten seconds. More than once, Scott had wished he had more of her in him.
Turning to Jenna, she smiled. “I actually came by to ask you a favor. Before you answer,” she cautioned with a hand in the air, “take some time to think it over. It might not seem like much to you, but it could mean everything to someone else.”
“Someone young and in trouble, you mean.” When Mom nodded, Jenna’s eyes softened with compassion. “Fill me in.”
“Gretchen Lewis came to the Barrett’s Mill center yesterday after school. She and her father just moved here. He works at the power plant and also in one of those quick-stop marts out on the highway, trying to keep his head above water. From what I gather, his wife cleaned out their bank account before she took off for who-knows-where.”
Her tone made it plain what she thought of that, and Scott had to chuckle. “Don’t sugarcoat it, Mom. Tell us how you really feel about it.”
“I’m not one to judge,” she said, looking from one to the other with a determined expression. “But I was raised to believe that when things get tough, family pulls together, not away. That’s never more important than when you have children to consider.”
Glancing over at Jenna, Scott noticed her frown seemed deeper than it should have been for a teenage girl she’d never even met. His suspicion was confirmed when she quietly asked, “How old is Gretchen?”
“Sixteen,” Mom replied in the sympathetic tone that had guided Scott and his brothers through so many of their own problems. “She’s adorable and whip smart, but also timid as a mouse. She mostly keeps to herself, but I noticed her drawing and went over to see what she was working on.”
Reaching into her oversize canvas bag, she pulled out a piece of paper folded in half and handed it to Jenna. When the artist opened it, Scott worried that her eyes might pop right out of her head.
“Wow.”
Holding it at arm’s length, she stared at it for several seconds and then passed it to him. He didn’t have much of an eye for art, but he instantly recognized the Crossroads Church, complete with its modest bell tower and open entry doors. She’d drawn it looking through town toward the old chapel, and he easily recognized the trees and charming old homes that stood on either side of Main Street.
The Whistlestop Diner appeared open for business, and further up was his sister-in-law Amy’s dance studio, Arabesque, complete with the unfinished section Jason was adding to the old building’s living quarters. There was the Donaldson house, the Morgan place and the town square with its old-fashioned gazebo. The detail was stunning, to say the least.
“If she can do this with a pencil and paper, imagine what she could manage with some real supplies,” he commented.
“My thought exactly,” his mother confirmed, giving Jenna a hopeful look. “I know you’re planning to leave soon, but I was hoping you might come into the center and give her some encouragement. When I complimented her, she brushed it off like she didn’t believe me. If that praise came from someone who makes her living as an artist, she might take it more seriously.”
Jenna hesitated, but something told him it wasn’t because she was reluctant to help. She’d put a lot of time and effort into Granddad’s painting, and that combined with her volunteering to plant flowers at the cemetery told Scott she had a generous nature. So what was holding her back now? It must have been something important—and very personal. Which meant it was none of his business, but he couldn’t help wondering about it all the same.
Mom didn’t say anything more, and he recognized the patient look on her face from the many times he’d been on the receiving end. While she waited, Scott realized she was treating Jenna with the same respect she had her own kids. Even when they’d messed up, the Barrett boys could always count on her to hear them out before bringing down the hammer. Because of that, she was the only person he could comfortably look in the eye these days.
And Jenna, he realized with a jolt. Why, he had no clue, but he couldn’t deny it was true.
When she glanced at the drawing again, Jenna finally nodded. “Okay, I’ll talk to her. When would you like me to come in?”
“Thursday,” Mom answered in her usual brisk way. “She said she was coming back after school that day, and I’d love for her to meet you.”
“Then I’ll be there.”
“That’s what I like most about you, honey,” Mom approved, giving her a quick hug. “You don’t stand around hemming and hawing like so many folks. When there’s something that needs doing, you step in to take the reins and make things happen. Gretchen should be in around four. See you then!”
With a brisk wave, she was gone.
Chapter Three (#ulink_8e7d54bb-940f-586e-b21c-fa8b5e9c79ce)
“We can lay the window down over here,” Jenna said, sweeping a pile of crumpled sketches from a nearby workbench.
In one of its previous lives, her studio had been a garage with a lofted workshop space and small bathroom above. Cramped but functional, that was where she crashed at night. The place wasn’t large, but the yoga teacher who’d rented it before her had retrofitted the wide-open room with skylights and a bank of windows that let in a ton of natural light.
Unfortunately, they also revealed the general state of disarray she preferred to work in. Two landscapes in progress were propped on easels, with completed pieces protected in Bubble Wrap and stacked in one corner. In another, her pottery wheel held something that was beginning to resemble the terra-cotta planter a customer had requested for her front porch.
A fine coating of stone dust covered everything. After he set down the window, Scott drifted toward the garden sculpture she was working on. Tilting his head one way and then another, he finally admitted, “I give up. What’s it supposed to be?”
She heard that all the time from people who didn’t understand the artistic process, and she swallowed an exasperated sigh. “It’s for Lila Davidson’s rose garden. When it’s finished, it’ll be a girl gnome to match the boy one I made for her last year.”
“Yeah, she always did love her gardens. She reminds me of Gram that way.”
It was the first time he’d mentioned being fond of anyone outside his family, and she seized on the opportunity to encourage him to open up a little. “From what I hear, they’ve been friends a long time.”
“Lila’s husband, Hank, was Granddad’s foreman at the sawmill when I was growing up,” he replied as he carefully unwrapped the fragile chapel window. “The four of them were pretty close back in the day. Stood up at each other’s weddings, stuff like that. I’d imagine that hasn’t changed any.”
“It’s nice having lifelong friends like that.” When he shrugged, she sensed he wasn’t pleased about the direction the conversation was heading. Prickly didn’t begin to describe this man, she groused as she picked up two corners of one of the quilts while he did the same. Walking toward him, she tried again. “So, you must be glad to be back home with your old crowd.”
“I haven’t seen any of ’em.” Apparently, her shock was obvious, because he met her stare with a hard one of his own. “I’m not in the mood to see anyone from high school. Me being here is awkward enough for my own family, so it’d only be worse with anyone else.”
“You’re not giving them much credit. I mean, I know all about what happened, and that hasn’t stopped us from getting to know each other. If you gave them a chance, some of them just might surprise you.”
He didn’t respond to that, but his expression clearly said he doubted it. This guy would try anyone’s patience, and even a natural-born optimist like Jenna had her limits. “Well, it’s up to you. I appreciate you helping me get this window here. If you’ll just drive me back to the cemetery, I’ll be out of your hair and you can get on with your day.”
Once they were finished folding, he stacked the blankets on the floor and glanced around. Shoving his hands in the back pockets of his jeans, he slanted her a hesitant look. “I’m not really in a hurry or anything. I wouldn’t mind seeing what kind of stuff you make here.”
So, she thought with a little grin, the hunky hermit wasn’t as averse to company as he claimed to be. Maybe he’d gotten so accustomed to keeping his guard up in prison he was having a tough time adjusting to his calmer, less dangerous surroundings. If that was the case, she was more than happy to help him make the leap.
“Since I’m a freelancer, I do a little of everything. Garden gnomes,” she added, pointing to the one he’d made fun of earlier. “Portraits, landscapes, pottery, whatever people want. This one—” she crossed to one of the easels “—is going to a client in Roanoke. Their golden retriever is getting on in years, and they wanted a painting of her with their grandkids to remember her by after she’s gone.”
Strolling over, Scott tapped the photo she’d clipped to the top corner of the easel. “They’ve probably got a hundred pictures of her just like this one. Why spend money on a painting?”
“You can’t get the same effect out of a camera,” Jenna explained patiently. “An artist can capture a lot more with different brush techniques and subtle blends of color. Photographs only show what something looks like, not how it feels to experience it.”
He took a few seconds to digest that, and a measure of respect crept into his eyes. “Y’know, I’m not the creative type, but I totally get what you’re saying. Where’d you learn that kind of thing?”
His question took her back to one of the happiest times of her life, and even though it hadn’t worked out the way she’d hoped, she smiled. “I went to art school for a year after high school. One of my professors was this tiny woman who was so old she’d actually met some of the artists we studied. Anyway, she taught me that true art is more than something to be displayed on a stand or hung on a wall. It should come alive and make you feel something. Exceptional pieces inspire you to see the world in a different way than you did before.”
“Interesting.” Looking around the room, his keen eyes landed on a smaller canvas hung for display instead of wrapped up for a customer. It was a watercolor of a yellow Cape Cod house with a white-railed porch running the width of the front. Accented by hanging flowers and others lining a walkway made of large stones, it had a cozy, welcoming look to it. “This is really nice.”
“Thanks. I painted that ages ago, when Mom and I were moving around a lot. It’s my dream house.”
Studying it for a few moments, he announced, “Hang a swing on the porch, it’d be just about perfect.”
“That’s a great idea!” She approved heartily. “I’ll add that in sometime along with one for that big tree to the left. I love swings.”
As he continued strolling along the outer wall of her workspace, he commented, “Most of these things are done or pretty near it. Where are you headed when you’re done here?”
